


you are the music in me

by NeverNothing



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, M/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, kenma is a producer, kuroo a singer with a bad case of writers block, other relationships hinted - Freeform, they fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverNothing/pseuds/NeverNothing
Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou was suffering from a long streak of writer's block. The melodies seemed to come back to him after he first listened to an arrangement made by music producer Kozume Kenma. And he knew immediately they had to meet.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 163





	you are the music in me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [todxrxki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/todxrxki/gifts).



> This is my gift to [mads](https://twitter.com/todxrxki) for a private SS we did with a group of friends. You wanted something with music so that's what you get! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Merry Christmas to all of you <3

A press of the play button and a short passage of music followed. Maybe it was pleasant, but for Kuroo Tetsurou it all sounded wrong. Like a desperate attempt at something. And that guess wasn’t too off.

For the better part of the last few weeks, almost months even, Kuroo had spent his days like this. Sitting in front of his keyboard, sometimes his guitar in a futile pursuit of coming up with that jingle of inspiration. And so far, all he got were amateur tries that he could have done even before he entered high school.

Whatever he did, whatever arrangement he tried, a song never seemed to come together. The rhythm was wrong, the base key was off or his mind was just empty. Whatever he came up with, in the end, it was lacking.

He was a pathetic sight, really. People might see him as an established artist, and yet there he was. Battling another rough patch, another long streak of melodies that wouldn’t come together, wouldn’t come to  _ him _ . 

With another sigh into the ringing, accusing emptiness of his apartment, Kuroo gave up. Gathering the papers he had been scribbling on to a neat pile, he decided to take a break. Sort through whatever he had come up with later and hope that there was something useable there. The chances of it were slim.

His phone rang. He saw the name staring back at him and despite his best judgement, he took the call.

“Are you still wallowing?” Oikawa Tooru greeted him.

“I’m not wallowing.” Sitting down on his couch, he was definitely pouting.

The fellow singer hummed. “Sure, and I didn’t win artist of the year.”

“Ouch, Oikawa. Too soon.”

This startled a laugh. “Oh hush, open the door, will you? I got something to show you.”

Oikawa came bustling in with his laptop clasped underneath his arms. Strutting in as if he owned the place, he went straight for Kuroo’s kitchen table. It had been ages since someone had visited, and his apartment showed the traces. 

Clothes, half eaten take-out and dishes he had put off doing later, were littered around the place. All over his apartment, different papers with notes and messy melodies scribbled on them were scattered.

The feeling of shame edged into his consciousness as he became aware of the mess he called his apartment. He violently pushed the sensation away.

“What is it you want to show me?”

“Sit.” Oikawa pointed to a chair, as he opened his laptop and quickly typed in his password to unlock it. He hadn’t changed it since they first met and Kuroo didn’t have the heart to tell him that he long figured it out -  _ vbuw940813.  _ No big deal if you knew his boyfriend. “And now listen.”

The tune began with a lonely piano, played softly and barely noticeable. The voice, Oikawa’s, was overshadowing it. Kuroo knew his usual songs, and they were never like this. Instead of pop-y, this was soulful. Soon, the voice was joined by more instruments and another vocal line, picked up the pace, adding a synthesizer and resembling more and more the usual style of Oikawa’s music. Layer upon layer.

Kuroo gasped, not able to avert his eyes as if he was being able to hear better that way. “The one who wrote this. Who produced it. He’s a genius.”

The way the sound drifted from the speakers was magical, the arrangement tastefully done, and the instrumental background was chosen to fit the slightly nasal tone of Oikawa’s singing voice leading into a catchy refrain. It created the impression that the listener was floating, covered in cotton while not hindering the vocal line to shine.

It was uncommon for Tooru’s voice to be handled like this, usually crasser, but it fit him extraordinarily well, showcased his carefully trained skills for even inexperienced listeners. At the same time, it was subtle enough to be enjoyable.

In the back of his head, tones began to assemble, to settle into a tentative melody.

His head shot up, his hand reaching for a piece of paper at the same time. “Oikawa, you have to introduce me to this person.”

Cursing because he couldn’t find a pen, Kuroo began scribbling down his thoughts as if possessed, hastily thrown together notes creating an indecipherable mess. He would smooth things out later. Right now, he had to follow the flow.

Beside him, Oikawa was scandalized. “Are you crazy? That’s not how this works.”

Kuroo looked at him, not understanding.

Oikawa groaned in annoyance, just short of ruffling his perfectly coiffed hair. “You don’t ask Kozume Kenma to produce a song for you. You hope to catch his eye and pray that  _ he  _ sends a proposal your way. Do you even have the closest idea just who you are talking about?”

“As I said, he’s a genius.” This much was obvious. It had never stopped Kuroo from working with producers before.

The gaze Oikawa considered him with contained a damning amount of pity. “And about the most private and picky person-  _ producer _ \- there is. He’s at a caliber where he can freely choose who to work with and he sure as hell uses that right for whatever he pleases.”

Leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head, Kuroo put on air of nonchalance. He tried to keep his curiosity in check. “That sounds a lot like Kageyama.”

Oikawa scrunched his nose. “Don’t even mention that name to me right now. Tobio-chan might also be a genius, but he can’t compare.”

Kuroo hummed, agreeing. The genre and style were just too different. For Kageyama, every song he produced left a distinctive taste, a distinctive sound that just screamed of the producer’s own color. It was what made his work so attractive and him recognizable in his craft.

Kozume, instead, seemed like a chameleon. Instead of fusing his own color into the song, he made sure the artist performing the song  _ owned _ it. Adjusting arrangements, tweaking the pitch to ensure it would bring out the best in the artist. Dedication to the art of creating. Of course it drew Tetsurou in. It was like magic itself to listen to.

Despite the years he had been working in the music business, he had never heard anything quite like this. 

“I have worked with him.” Kuroo raised his eyebrow, silently communicating a  _ don’t-you-say. _ Oikawa harrumphed and continued as if nothing happened. “Not only does he not say a lot, but he is absolutely  _ ruthless _ when he does. I mean, he is right every time, his directions improved the song so much you can barely imagine it. But at what cost.”

It seemed Oikawa could not hold back on the dramatics. By now, Kuroo knew how to filter through them. “Tell me more.”

And with every word that Oikawa further described the process, with every detail about their work together he recollected, Kuroo’s conviction grew stronger. He  _ had _ to work with Kozume Kenma. 

The only question was  _ how. _ He would work it out. After all, Kuroo was creative.

He should really clean his apartment, though. If he ended up going through Kozume’s entire released works, no one would ever know.

Trying to come up with ways they might meet up proved to be more difficult than initially expected. Kuroo considered begging Oikawa to introduce them, begging his manager to introduce them, calling him out on it on Twitter or asking- begging- Tsukishima, a fellow producer and a good friend, to introduce them. 

In general, his plans seemed to involve a lot of begging. Not that he was beneath it, his pride could take it but he was not sure how the producer might react to it. 

In the end, he did end up asking Tsukki, calling in a favour for introducing him to his now boyfriend. The process was terrifyingly embarrassing and nothing he ever wanted to remember.

Despite everything, Kuroo was hesitantly optimistic.

As it turned out, Kuroo might as well have sold his soul to the devil. It took longer than he would have wished, but after thousands of reminders and countless times of Tsukki snapping at him, finally, a meeting was arranged.

Kuroo had been working on his next album for the better part of a year, listening to demos in the pool his agency provided him, wrote some himself but none of the songs proved itself to be good enough. He had been stuck, to put it bluntly.

And maybe he was desperate, but he wanted to feel that spark again. Ever since Oikawa had shown him his recent release, Kuroo had been listening to songs that Kozume had worked on. Inspiration was easier to work through then, a melody different from the one he was listening to spread to the forefront of his mind, setting him aflame. 

Kuroo was burning when he was listening to the complex composition that was paradoxically easy on the ear, when the music took a different path than he expected, when the built-up was resolved so satisfyingly or sometimes underwhelmingly it was uncanny. Even though Kuroo had never met the producer, he got to know him. Or so he felt.

And through the bits Kuroo managed to catch, he wrote. The picture his words and sequence of notes painted was blurry, but it left Kuroo breathless all the same. The melodies in his head, they were exhilarating.

Their first meeting took place at the music studio Tsukki -and Kozume, apparently- frequented. Tsukishima had emailed him the details earlier that day, including the exact destination. With careful steps, he drew closer to that place, that room, now. Kuroo would not admit to it, but his heart was racing.

Only hesitating for a beat before entering, he froze when he saw the one he wanted to meet. 

The studio itself was ordinary. Modern with sleek colours and the newest equipment, a sole plant in one corner but nothing special. Kozume, however, Kozume Kenma was nothing like he had expected.

Kuroo was not sure what it was he had assumed the producer would look like, but it wasn’t this. Clad in a black and definitely oversized sweater that covered his knees when he sat, Kozume was staring back at him. The fringe of his almost completely black hair partly covered his eyes. And his hair. He had gathered it in a low bun, blond tips revealing that he used to dye them. Kuroo had always had a weakness for long hair.

Swallowing around his dry throat, he croaked out a greeting. Sharp eyes surveyed him until he was motioned to sit. Kozume did not raise to greet him.

As he sat down in front of Kozume, he got a closer look at his face. For someone who prided himself in being able to read other people easily, Kozume revealed nothing. His face was a careful mask of apathy and Kuroo was almost fooled by it. But then he noticed the smallest stirring. The quick quip of his mouth, the way Kozume’s eyes seemed to look brighter, and the smallest tilt of his head. Interest.

This was all he needed. The smirk on Kuroo’s face must have had his characteristic edge, something his fans lovingly called his ‘bad boy smile’. He was looking forward to this.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” he got the introductions out of the way first. Kozume did not seem like the type to appreciate contact with strangers, so Kuroo didn’t extend his hand.

The nod and the way he angled his head told Kuroo it was appreciated. “Kozume Kenma. Call me Kenma.”

In the back of Kuroo’s mind, a distant tingle started. Kenma’s voice was its own melody, not fitting into any category Kuroo had heard before. The natural lilt clashed the apathetic tone he portrayed otherwise. His voice had layers, Kuroo thought then, eager to figure them out. It was fascinating. It fit. 

Kuroo hummed as not to seem as absent-minded as he was. Oikawa had mentioned something along these lines. The way Kozume- Kenma- disliked being called by his last name. 

“Kenma, then.” The drawl Kuroo spoke that name in was instinctive. He liked the way the name rolled from his lips, he decided right then and there.

When Kenma suddenly rose from his seat, Kuroo was finally able to expand on his impression.

He wasn’t short per se, but still not as tall as Kuroo or most of his friends. The sweater that had covered his knees now only reached mid thigh, revealing that his black jeans were carefully ripped at the knees. He pulled his sleeves back and walked towards a corner of the room, opening cupboards and pulling out boxes. Kuroo spied a tea box and observed as Kenma meticulously prepared some. Each step was carefully but precise. The right amount of tea leaves, the water not fully boiled when he poured it over the tea strainer into a cup. An eye for details, Kuroo surmised. It fit.

“I heard arranging a meetup with you is hard. I’m honored.” As Kenma was not saying anything, Kuroo thought it was the easiest to start with some small talk.

Kenma snorted as he wandered back to his place, this time cup of tea in hand. Kuroo counted that as a good sign.

“Kei can be pretty persuading.” Kuroo sent a silent prayer of thanks to the other producer. The two producers knew each other well, it seemed. The embarrassment had been worth it. “He sent me some of your unreleased tapes.”

Forget what he had just said. “He did what-?”

The click of a key was the answer he got. The speakers in the corner of the room turned into action and a melody rang across the room, sound improving due to the superb isolation. It was a melody Kuroo was intimately familiar with.

It sounded like late afternoons in summer, like clothes sticking to his skin, like the start of a setting sun and the classroom, air stifling, painted in an orange sheen. It sounded like his teenage youth come alive again.

The guitar was unsure, mistakes in the grip that were painfully obvious to his experienced ears. The voice accompanying it was too loud and overly emotional, not hitting every tone exactly right. This, too, was a voice he was familiar with.

He gaped. Then wildly gestured with his arms, willing Kenma to turn it off. Thankfully, Kenma did. His mouth curled in something oddly similar to amusement, though.

“That is something I wrote when I was still in high school.” He wrote it just after he had begun high school, to be more accurate. It was the first full-fledged song he had ever written. Listening to it now, it was blatantly obvious that he had no idea what he was doing at the time.

Kuroo remembered how he’d sat in a music room of his high school as he had recorded it on a recorder he had bought for that exact purpose. A boy that just had his last growth spurt, not yet used to the new length of his limbs but his uniform thankfully fitting now, with pimples just like every other teenager and with big, big dreams and an insurmountable amount of passion.

He remembered how he had spent afternoons strumming his guitar, trying to come up with the melody. How he had scribbled down notes during classes until his teachers berated him to pay attention if he wanted to keep his grades up.

Suddenly, he was sixteen again, in his childhood bedroom in the middle of the night. Surrounded by notebooks with the guitar in his lap. Remembered the elation of an inexperienced boy when it all finally fit together.

It was a great contrast to who he was now, the polished artist in his sixth year. More knowledgeable about his art. Honed by experience both recording and performing and living his passion. He couldn’t help but lament the state he was in now. Barely hanging on, it seemed.

Part of him wanted to swear- he had no idea Tsukki had that file saved somewhere. It’s been years. On the other hand, apparently it was this poor first attempt that caught Kenma’s attention.

Kenma had simply watched him in silence, idly sipping his tea, and Kuroo wondered what he had read on his face. Breaking eye contact, Kenma hunched together and let his fringe fall in his face again. His gaze wandered from Kuroo to the surrounding equipment and sound system, then through the window into the adjacent recording room.

Following Kenma’s gaze, Kuroo cleared his throat and tried to swallow the embarrassment of being confronted with old work. “This is what made you agree to meet?”

“Hmm-,” after his short survey, Kenma’s gaze focused on him again. They were eerily cat-like, analytical. “I have listened to the music you’ve been releasing. Compared to this, you have lost something. The rawness.”

The sheer elation of music.

“Ouch, that hurt.” Awkwardly, Kuroo laughed to ease the tension that had settled in his shoulder.

“Sometimes it’s there again,” Kenma continued. “Especially when you’re performing. You seem different then, your music seems different then.

“But when it’s recorded-“

Kuroo had felt it, too. The heaviness in his chest was witness to it, the fleeting inspiration just another drop of weight in favor. 

“-it’s missing something. It’s lacking.” Kuroo finished the sentence. He had never said it out loud before, even though the weight of it had been bearing him down for maybe since his career had started. It had never felt like there was room for his doubts before.

Finally vocalizing it was freeing. Hearing it, unexpectedly, even more so. Self-written songs were part of his brand, part of how his agency marketed him and why his fans loved him. Never had someone told him before that it was lacking, never had anyone heard or even addressed the emptiness Kuroo felt when he listened to his recordings. For the longest time he had thought this was just his kind of perfectionism, that he was being too harsh on himself. He was successful, people loved what he did. So he told himself he was making it up, the way it did not feel quite right anymore. The rapid speed in which his work seemed to lose its spark, its color just a byproduct of his expectation.

But what he had just heard. It wasn’t just in his head.

The way Kenma eyed him was hard to interpret. Was it wonder? Something like intrigue? Kuroo could not be sure, but it warmed him .

“You realized it yourself.”

Again, a laugh was startled out of Kuroo. “It’s hard not to, isn’t it?”

At first, Kenma did not answer. Then.

“Most people don’t.” His voice was soft, mumbled and Kuroo doubted he was supposed to hear. 

For more than a beat, the two simply stared at each other. Kuroo was not sure what exactly they conveyed in that moment, but he felt like they came to some kind of conclusion he was not able to verbalize yet. There was the beginning of a melody, again. But still too far for him to reach out and grasp it.

“So.” Kuroo picked up the conversation again. “Do you have an idea how we’re going to fix this?”

Setting down his mug, Kenma turned to his laptop. “We’ll see.”

Kuroo’s head began swimming in melodies the moment they started talking about possible arrangements, tentative plans for their cooperation and song proposals. It was all he had hoped for and even more. It felt revitalizing, like learning how to breathe again, like coming up for air after spending too much time submerged.

Before their meeting, Kuroo had a concept and a dozen of unfinished songs. None of which seemed right or good enough. Talking to Kenma about ideas, being forced to pinpoint what felt off and listen to a different opinion about the cause was refreshing. Humbling and depressing, but refreshing. The knots in Kuroo’s head seemed to untangle and the picture of what he wanted became clearer. And in response, his heart felt lighter, the grin on his face softer.

Along the rhythms and melodies he had written, Kenma’s words added a foundation and gave him a steady footing in the forest that was his own imagery. They talked, longer than he had initially anticipated.

Kuroo’s head grew dizzy with ideas swimming, his heart was racing. And they were just gathering ideas.

“Alright, great!” Kuroo’s voice was quivering in giddiness. It was hard for him to keep still. Something in him wanted to start on their work  _ now _ . He held himself back, though. It seemed as if Kenma had enough social interaction for the day.

“I’ll send you the demos later this evening.” They had already exchanged contact information earlier. Kenma nodded in reply and Kuroo moved to stand. Extending his hand for a firm handshake, he allowed the anticipation to set in.

Now, Kenma reached to take it and the world around them went quiet.

When he left the room, Kuroo tried to repress the memory of Kenma’s hand in his. A grip that wasn’t too firm, weak calluses on his fingers and skin that was surprisingly soft. The thought of it alone made Kuroo’s spine tingle pleasantly. 

Those hands created magic and he was going to be part of it.

It was no surprise when Kenma turned out to be quite the night owl. Kuroo had to adjust his workout schedule slightly to make it work, but he was determined.

And as Oikawa had warned, he was strict. It took several meetings for Kenma to warm up to him enough, but when he did, he was brutally honest. And if Kuroo was less of a man, he would have left the studio crying.

Instead, the two of them sat down and talked. Talked for hours on end, discussing, sometimes arguing. Kuroo had never experienced something like that before.

When he mentioned something about the way they talked to Oikawa, he just looked at him with an eyebrow raised, not believing what he said. “Kenma does not argue. He demands a change and you listen.”

But the same amount that they fought, or even more than that, Kuroo enjoyed the sense of idyll that filled him when he was with Kenma. How the world seemed to quiet and grow more vibrant at the same time, a hyper focus Kuroo couldn’t put his words on. 

How the chaos in his head aligned himself to a melody he had to get out. He had to admit, it still wasn’t perfect, but it was the best feeling he had in years.

As if awakening to a sixth sense, the time they spent talking, Kuroo ended up understanding a lot about Kenma. Got to know him in a way that almost felt too natural. Kenma despised his studio being messy, rarely wore something else than oversized sweaters or shirts, had the biggest pet peeve about the way people had their tea and, against all expectations, he was expressive. You just had to know where and how to look.

And Kuroo learned.

He learned how Kenma’s face scrunched up in dismay or disgust- those two were extremely hard to distinguish. He learned how his eyes always revealed the most. How they seemed to light up when Kenma liked a change Kuroo suggested or when the transition from one passage to the other was particularly smooth. How they seemed more golden when he was happy, amber in a passionate emotion when they were arguing and more toned down when he was tired. The lines of his forehead smoothed when he was satisfied with the work they did, and he bit his lip when he was concentrated. But only lightly.

During those times, Kuroo often ended up staring, losing the thread of his thought. Kenma’s lips were plumb and rosy, his mouth small. Kuroo wanted to trace them, the melody in the back of his head growing in a crescendo until he could no longer ignore it.

One night, Kuroo laid awake alone in bed and finally came to accept the fact that he was attracted to Kozume Kenma. No big deal.

It took only a couple more nights for him to come to the conclusion it was more than that. He would remember the sound of Kenma’s laugh, usually a startled giggle, or the way he snorted when Kuroo was being an idiot and Kuroo felt like he was being warmed from the inside. The melody that had started ringing in his head finally formed into something Kuroo comprehended, into something he could put into words.

Working with Kenma, he was able to put it into his music. The elation of it was boundless, soaring.

When they were together in the studio, Kuroo wanted to reach out to him, pull him closer. He had always wanted to produce a song with a lover, acting utterly domestic in the process. This was as close as he had ever come to that fantasy. And it was enough.

When he entered the studio the next day, Kenma was already sitting at the mixing station, laptop open. They had recorded the sixth song yesterday and Kenma had said he wanted to get ahead with the mixing to show Kuroo what he had in mind. Expressing what exactly he wanted for the song had been difficult, so he thought it was better to show Kuroo.

After putting away his jacket, Kenma still hadn’t noticed him. Carefully stepping closer, Kuroo peeked over his shoulder. Kenma was adjusting the tone levels, probably smoothing out the transitions. Wearing headphones and staring hard at the screen, he was gone from the world.

Leaning closer, Kuroo tried to get a sense of the work Kenma did without being able to hear actual sounds. That’s how he ended up supporting himself on the table, effectively caging Kenma in. Trying to figure out what Kenma was doing, Kuroo didn’t notice at first. What he did notice was the quip of Kenma’s lips, who was also resolutely staring at his screen, adding musical layer to layer. What he did notice was that Kenma leaned back further, until they were almost touching, his hair brushing against Kuroo’s cheek. Kuroo’s grip on the table tightened and his breath halted as his heart began racing.

Tilting his head, he tried to catch more of Kenma’s expression, but he saw nothing except relaxed calmness. Maybe a pale blush if he stared hard enough but the light was unforgiving. At least, Kenma seemed in no form uncomfortable. 

“You’re breathing down my neck, Kuro.” The first time Kenma had called him that, it had been an accident. Kenma had been snapping at him, his surprisingly short temper showing, and Kuroo couldn’t suppress a cackle in response. Since then, it had established itself as a sort of nickname and Kuroo definitely would not complain about it. As he spoke, Kenma did not turn towards him and first, Kuroo only saw his lip move before the words sank it.

“Oh shit, sorry.”As if receiving an electric shock, Kuroo quickly distanced himself and flexed his hand to ease the tenseness. Thankfully, Kenma did not turn to face him, as his cheeks were surely covered in a blush.

Instead, Kenma pulled down his earphones. “Come listen to this. I want your opinion.”

Kuroo’s hands were sweating as he sat down and accepted Kenma’s earphones. The producer did not wait long, starting from the middle of the song the moment Kuroo put the earphones on. Forgotten was Kuroo’s earlier floundering as he concentrated on the changes Kenma had made.

The song itself was slower paced than the other songs they had written and arranged before, more sensual in tone and content. His voice was croony, like transparent fabric in a light breeze, dipped in the colors of a setting sun. Sepia saturated in orange. Transitions were done subtly, in a way Kuroo was sure people would not notice when not paying attention. Kuroo frowned.

“The bridge still sounds off.” Kenma commented, catching his expression and Kuroo hummed. He felt the same.

It was not easy to decide what bothered Kuroo. The first passage of the bridge, the transition into this part of the song felt lackluster in comparison to the rest. Before, Kuroo would have no word in changing it. Or would have even commented on it, already used to his comments being disregarded in the final stage of arrangements. But Kenma heard the same music Kuroo did, heard the flaws and imperfections, shared which aspects of them needed to be improved and which added to its inherent charm. Together, they would fix it, make it as perfect as it possibly could be.

“We should listen to the whole thing again.” Kuroo suggested, pulling down the earphones once the last notes passed. “Together.”

That second time, they listened to Kenma’s arrangement through the speakers scattered around the studio to get a feel for the song through a different medium. Still huddled close together, they let the draft of music sink in, not talking until there was silence again.

“What if-” They started at the same time. 

Locking gazes, Kuroo felt the mutual understanding bloom. Something heady spread in the caves of his chest, blooming alongside.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” The grin on his face was sharp, expecting even though he was already sure of the answer. 

“If you are thinking we should not resolve that fifth and play with the tempo, then yes.”

Exhilarated, Kuroo laughed. He threw his arms around Kenma’s shoulder and pulled him closer. His mouth was close to Kenma’s ear and his voice still full of laughter, maybe a little breathless, when he whispered back. “You heard it, too.”

Through their closeness, Kuroo heard Kenma’s slow exhale, the slight shiver of his body.

Sooner than he’d like, Kuroo leaned back, letting his arm fall from Kenma’s shoulder to pull his laptop closer. They were still sitting close next to each other, their thighs brushing. The flutter of his heart still hadn’t settled and Kuroo tried to distract himself by continuing their work.

Kenma kept silent and watched Kuroo work. He seemed almost lost in thought.

“Earlier-” Kuroo hummed, showing he was listening to Kenma’s words even as he kept adjusting the pace of the instrumentals. “Your heart was racing. When I was leaning back against you.”

The singer froze, his mouth dry. He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Kenma, who was already returning his gaze. Kuroo coughed, then said. “You make me nervous.”

“Still?”

“No.” Kuroo gulped and shifted even closer, into Kenma’s personal space. Kenma did not draw back. “Again. But in a good way.”

Kenma’s eyes were fluttering, flickering from Kuroo’s eyes to his lips and back until he was peering up at him through half lidded eyes. The air surrounding them seemed fragile. Kuroo leaned against the mixing station again so his body was turned to Kenma, his fingers brushing against Kenma’s arm, coming to rest against his elbow.

With bated breath, Kuroo waited for a reaction. Kenma tilted his head up, watching, waiting.

“Is it okay-?” He did not fully articulate, couldn’t. His voice was coarse, shaky.

Kenma’s eyes fell shut and Kuroo closed the distance between them.

Melodies hit him like waves crashing, pulling him into their turmoil as Kenma tilted his head further, grazing his lower lip. His slack hand on Kenma’s elbow clenched, trying to pull him closer as they kissed. Kenma’s lips were even softer than he had imagined, pliant and responsive as Kuroo nudged his mouth open.

The noise inside of his head grew, all off them creating the melody he had been searching for. His heart was beating in rhythm with Kenma melting against him. Every brush of their lips felt like threads coming together, like music aligning itself. The puffs of breaths, the licks against lips, a bite and muted gasps adding layer upon layer.

Kuroo felt fingertips brush against his neck, a rhythm, a melody on their own. It sent shivers down his spine until it was hard to breath.

When they parted, Kuroo gasped. “Wait, I have to write this down.”

With his fingers still resting against Kuroo’s nape, Kenma snorted. His eyes shone, they were fond. “You are an idiot, Kuro.”

Dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose, Kuroo grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. “Your idiot, apparently.”

And just laughed when Kenma pushed him away.

**Author's Note:**

> [|@Twitter](https://twitter.com/nevernothingx3)


End file.
